It's All Fun and Games
by what's.originality
Summary: What happens when America gets England thrown into a suspicious game show? What happens when that game show turns into a sadistic, angsty show-and-tell? Worst fears will be shown and possibly turn the two countries against each other! How will they win the game and escape? [No pairing. Brotherly love. Rated "T" for Mild Language and Violence]
1. Chapter 1

What happens when a fun game show goes horribly wrong? How will the duo of America and England work it out to get out of the horror? Humor and Angst follows. This isn't really a pairing/romance. However, brotherly love will be a present in this story.

**NOTE**:I DO NOT OWN HETALIA NOR THE CHARACTERS. HIMA-PAPA IS AMAZING.

"Go ahead then, do-"

Thunder grumbled above their heads, silencing the blue-coated soldier. With a determined glare, he straightened himself, chest heaving with adrenaline. The red-coated soldier was frozen in a defensive stance, the cocked gun trembling in his unstable hands. The rain beat down on both of the figures, soaking them from the strands of their hair to the tip of their boots.

The blue-coated soldier spoke again. "I said do it. Shoot me, England." His azure eyes bore down on the Englishman.

England fixed his eyes on his musket, gritting his teeth. Could he shoot him? Could he actually shoot America? The Briton would deny it over and over, but even an idiot could point out the winning side. England was outnumbered. The redcoats were defeated, even if he fired one more shot.

His emerald eyes flickered up to meet the American's hardened stare. The Englishman rested his index finger on the trigger, the end of the musket meeting America's face. All it took was one pull of the finger. One more win before it was over.

_"England! England!" A beaming boy burst through the door of the house, turning a corner, and running down the hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door. The blond-haired boy screeched to stop. His little, grubby hands jumped for the doorknob in hopes of reaching it._

_Behind the office door was a grinning male with dark, emerald eyes and absurdly thick eyebrows. Quietly, the male turned the doorknob, showing himself to the boy. "Ah-ha!" he cackled, scooping up the little boy into his arms. "I've got you! Raaah!" The Englishman tickled the boy in the stomach, causing him to squeal with delight._

_England grinned widely, satisfied that he made his little brother laugh. "Alright, little man." He lifted his brother off himself and onto the ground. "I have some work to finish up. I'll see you in awhile. Be good, alright?" The British country turned and headed back into his office._

_The boy's laughter died down, and he stumbled after his big brother, pouting. "England! England, wait!"_

_England turned around, his eyebrows raised. "We've talked about this, America. Big brother has some work to do, so I need you to play alone for a bit."_

_"I know," Little America began, "but come here! I need to tell you something!" He gestured for the Englishman to sit down._

_Obliging, the Briton sighed and sat down by his younger brother. In return, America sat on his lap and touched England's cheek, smiling. The country smiled softly, his little brother's innocent smile warming his heart. Then, the little boy pointed at England's eyes. "They're green," America then pointed to his eyes. "and mine are blue."_

_The Englishman chuckled. "What an interesting observation, America."_

_"Green and blue!" His little brother pressed, clipping off each word. "Like the colors of a rainbow! Green and blue! We're right by each other! We'll always be together!"_

_England blinked, astounded by the 6-year-old's thought. "Th-That's right, America. No matter what happens, we'll be by each other's side."_

A sudden crackle of lightning broke through the memory. England gasped, his vision blurred from the pouring rain. The world suddenly became more muddy and gray, and all the more the Briton wished he was back inside his head. Suddenly feeling nauseous, England looked back at the swampy ground. Why did he think of shooting America? How could he have thought shooting him? It seemed too impossible now.

The redcoat looked back at the colonist's face. With his jaw set, America looked like he was still waiting for a response. England couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot his little brother. Not now, not ever. Slowly, he lowered his musket to his side. The American colony looked so surprised, that the Englishman wanted to tease him. But England couldn't do anything right now. He couldn't really explain what he was feeling. All the mighty British country felt now was...numb.

"C-Can't," the redcoat choked back a sob, finally feeling the accumulation of tears forming in his eyes.

America didn't say anything, but only stared.

"There's no way I can shoot you." England stated, his voice dripping of anguish. "I can't."

The Englishman dropped his musket. Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees. "Why?" England cried, holding his face in his hands. "Heavens, why? It's not fair!"

The colonist finally spoke. "I know it's not fair. But I'm not sorry it had to be this way."

Startled at America's reply, England looked up and gawked. The American had his musket aimed at him. Grinning sadistically, America threw his head back and laughed. "Together forever, eh? What a stupid idea!"

England froze, silent tears dripping off his cheek. His younger brother then did what the English country could never do. Flicking back his index finger, the last shot was finally fired.

_**BOOM!**_ England yelped, shooting up from his bed. His fists clenched his bedsheets. Only a dream. Reluctantly, he laid back down, curling up into his blankets. Like his nightmare, it was raining heavily outside. Raindrops drummed against the Briton's bedroom window and thunderous claps shook his room. The country closed his eyes, get drowsier by the minute.

_**DING DONG!**_ The Englishman frowned, wondering if he heard right. Was that his doorbell ringing? No, it couldn't be. It's past midnight, for God's sake.

_**DING DONG!**_ Wait...what?

_**DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONGDIN-**_

"Alright, alright! I'm coming!" England shouted, throwing off his covers. He sat on the edge of his bed, grumbling. "I swear, I'm killing anyone who comes to my door at this hour." The English country grabbed his blue robe that laid on the side of his bed and hurried down the stairs. Finally reaching his front door, he flicked on the lights to his porch. Then, England peered through his peephole, trying to find out what bloody bloke had dared to disturb him.

The Briton's eyes widened, and unlatched the door. He opened it, revealing a dirty blond-haired male trying to unlock his door. Upon sensing a presence, the blonde straightened up, sheepishly grinning. "Uh, oh, hey England! You're looking…well!"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Okay, guys. This is the latest chapter. I'll probably start updating a chapter a week, publishing it by Sunday. This one's longer than the last one, so I hope you'll enjoy it.

**Again, I do NOT own Hetalia or the characters!**

...

England grimaced, narrowing his eyes. "It's past midnight here, you ass! Why are you picking my lock with a…" The beyond-upset man glanced at the paperclip in America's hand. "A paper clip! What the hell?!"

The American waved his demand away. "Dude, it's like, 9 P.M. at my place. And as for the paper clip…" He carelessly threw the paper clip behind him, shrugging, "I saw it in movies! I just wanted to see if it actually worked- but that'd be so cool if it did! I would be like a super-cool secret agent guy!"

The British country closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to keep his anger in check. "Look...America...why on earth was it so important to break into my house? Why didn't you go bother Canada, or Mexico?! Some people actually want to sleep here!"

The American rolled his eyes. "Uh, because I saw this awesome ad for a game show in your country." He reached into the right side of his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. America then unwrapped it and gave it to England. "I found it in my inbox- nice, right? It's one day only, and I think it already started, but there's no ending time."

Grumbling, the Englishman snatched it from America's hold and read over it.

**_METUS_**

THE GREAT GAME SHOW!

Rated #1 in all of Great Britain

Showtimes: Jan. Wednesday 22- 10:00 PM to ?

Riverside Bldg, County Hall, Westminster Bridge Rd, London

**One day only!**

"This is nonsense," The Brit claimed, dismissively, "number one in the country? I've never even heard of this show. If you found it in your email, it must be spam."

America's face fell. "Oh, but I thought that you could-"

"Look, America," England cut him short, "I'm sorry you came here for nothing, but really, I have absolutely no idea what this is. I've had a long night and you did too. Go home and sleep." He started to close the door, but America's foot stuck through the opening.

"Come on, England, just...just come and check the address out with me, please?" The teenager's eyes lit up once more, and his lip quivered slightly, as if to make the Englishman change his mind.

He shouldn't have. He really, really, shouldn't have. But, his curiosity overwhelmed England. Perhaps it was the sleep-deprived state he was in, or maybe the "screw it" attitude he had at this hour, but, nevertheless, the British country finally obliged. "I'm going to change into some outing clothes," England sighed, and opened the door wider. "You're welcome to come in, until I'm done changing."

Grinning, the American fist-pumped and stepped into his house. "I'd knew you'd come to your senses!"

The Englishman shut the door behind them, ran up his stairs, and went into his bedroom. "Don't you dare touch anything!" England yelled behind the closed door.

America grinned, pondering if he should mess up some of England's stuff just to anger him. He looked around the Brit's home. It was considerably large for one man. From the doorway, he could see the speckled-marble floor leading to the doorway of the back porch. On the right side of the doorway was a spacey-size for a kitchen, and on the left side was the wooden plank floors of his living room. The room on the left side of the American was a sitting room, with comfortable black leather sofas and a baby grand piano from Steinway. To the right of him looked like England's office, with a crescent-shaped table and an office chair placed inside the crescent's arch. There was no ceiling where America stood, giving him a full view of the upstairs. The wooden staircase curled up to what looked like a roundabout of rooms. There were about 8 rooms in total- though America was pretty sure some of them were just closets.

Just as the American was wondering if he should save up for a bigger place than his condo, England came hurrying down the stairs. "Alright, I'm ready." England said with a nod. He reached for the coat rack by the door and grabbed a woolly, tan trenchcoat.

"Fancy," America commented. England shot him a look as if to say, don't push it.

...

"So where's this place again?" The Brit asked, as they walked towards his car, a white BMW.

"Riverside Building, County Hall, Westminster Bridge Road, London." The American answered. "Do you know where that is?"

"Westminster Bridge Road.." England repeated, "that's the London Eye, isn't it?"

"That's your famous ferris wheel, right?" America started to get into the car, but was stopped by a look from the Englishman. "What?"

"You're driving, then?"

The American looked at seat. It had a driving wheel. "Oh, oh, right. Wrong side- I still call shotgun!"

The Brit rolled his eyes, barely containing a smirk. "You're the only one here, idiot." They exchanged spots and got into the BMW. England started the car, and soon enough, they were on the road.

It looked barely like morning. It was still dark- the only source of light was the lampposts they drove by. It cast an orangish light over and over, flickering on and off as they rode past them.

"So, the London Eye, eh?" England questioned again.

"Yeah, if that's where the Westminster road is."

The British country snorted. "It seems like a stupid place to hold a game show. There's not really enough room, anyway."

America only shrugged. An awkward silence fell over them. The American tried to keep up the conversation. "So...a BMW?" He whistled appreciatively. "And that house of yours; it's pretty huge, dude."

"Hm." England grunted proudly. "I apologize if I have more class than you."

The teenage boy grinned. "Is that a challenge? I could afford that if I wanted!"

"A challenge it is, then." The Englishman declared, smiling now.

...

After awhile, the countries could finally see the famous landmark. Standing boldly at 443 feet, the wheel flashed lights up and down the spokes of its wheel. All 32 passenger capsules were dead still. England drove to the edge of the curb and stopped the car. "There's nothing here, America." he commented, impatience creeping up into his voice.

America stared through the windshield. He then opened the car door and walked out towards the ferris wheel.

"H-Hey, America! Come back!" England called.

The American scanned his surroundings. The park was dark and abandoned. "There's supposed to be something here," he muttered.

In an agitated groan, the Englishman clambered out of his BMW and rushed over to the American. "I can't park here; I'm going to get a ticket!"

America ignored the complaining Brit, as he inspected the London Eye closer. The teenager climbed over the small gate, despite England's protests. He was now standing by the capsule, the one closest to the ground. America couldn't explain it well, but somehow, he felt entranced by the capsule. It gave off a suspicious aura that filled him with nervous energy.

"Oi! America!"

The American turned and looked over his shoulder. The English country was stumbling over the fence, hurrying to his side. "Bloody hell, what's gotten into you?" England grumbled, "We're going to get caught, and it'll be your fault!"

"Jeez, relax, will you?" America answered coolly, still investigating the compartment. The American pressed his hands on the glass, and squinted his eyes, peering into the capsule. Through the light of the lamppost, he could make out a single word hiding in the corner of the capsule.

**_METUS_**

The teenager gasped audibly, silencing the Brit. America then grabbed England's arm, pulling him towards the glass screen. He pointed at the words.

"What is it?" The Englishman snapped. "I don't see anything!"

"Look," America hissed, "it says Metus. The name of the game show. Coincidence, much?"

After squinting for a few seconds, England could finally make out the words: METUS. He gawked at it. It couldn't have been a coincidence. "I-I've never seen those words when I rode the London Eye," the British country stammered.

America tried the handle. Amazingly enough, it budged, opening with an eerie creak. "Whoa," the American mouthed. "Cool." He pulled it open wider and stepped inside the capsule. Once inside, he gestured for the Brit to come in.

England hesitated, but once again, his curiosity willed him to follow America. He stepped inside, much to the American's delight. The door shut behind them, but both personifications disregarded it. England walked over to the words, contemplating what it meant. The Englishman smoothed his fingers over them, frowning in concentration. "What a strange name," he murmured, "Metus."

"Does Metus, like, own this capsule?" America wondered out loud. "Is the game show supposed to be in here, or-"

Suddenly, the capsule jerked to the side, causing the countries to topple over each other.

"Ow," England growled. "You're on me, idiot. Get off!" America rolled off the irate British country and sauntered to his feet.

As if on cue, the capsule jerked again, but this time, in an upwards motion. Stumbling, the American caught a hold on one of the seats, stabling himself. "What the hell?" he managed, bewildered. This time, the capsule kept its motion, speeding faster and faster.

The Brit was still huddled on the floor, clutching his stomach. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick."

America glanced at the window. He couldn't see the ground anymore. All he could see was a blur of lights, like the headlights of cars barreling down the highway. The lights sped up until the whole window was draped in an orangey light. "England," he whispered, feeling lightheaded. "I think the ferris wheel's moving."

The Englishman didn't answer. The teenager tried speaking again, but couldn't so much as wheeze out a sound. The American liked amusement rides- the faster, the better! But this certain ride didn't mix well with his stomach, nor his head. This ride was not cool at all. He collapsed on the spot, his mind spinning out of control. The world blurred around him. Finally, the darkness settled in.

...

**AN: So, how was it? Cliffhanger, I know- I'll be doing that often. Could I ask for more reviews, pretty please? This is my first time writing on , so some supportive tips would be appreciative. Next chapter will be up next Sunday, or possibly sooner! ouo"**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **I'm posting this chapter early because I'll be away from the computer during the weekend. owo"

...

England woke to the sound of applause. Or, at least that was what it sounded like. His head pounded mercilessly, synchronizing with the echoed ringing in his ears. The Brit covered his face with the palms of his hands. The room really needed to stop spinning. He uncovered his face and blinked a few times, frowning. All the Englishman could recall was entering a passenger capsule at the London Eye…and after that, he was dangerously dizzy?

_Hello everyone, oldtimers and newcomers alike! Welcome to the annual Metus' Game Show!_ A voice cut through the applause, shattering the Brit's thoughts.

England jumped, startled. Who in the world was that? He was supposed to be alone in the-

_Now presenting- the one and only- your fabulous host, Metus!_ The applause erupted once again, along with howls and cheers.

The English country closed his eyes again and then opened them. Finally, his vision cleared, and his head numbed from all that pounding. After what he saw, England figured he was still dreaming.

Instead of lying down on the cold, hard floor of the capsule, the personification was standing, leaning against a skinny, metallic podium. The stage he stood on was a translucent glass floor that emitted a brilliant gold hue. Unlike the compacted space of the passenger capsule, he was now in a large room with high, imperceptible ceilings. The next thing he noticed was that the applause came from nowhere. Literally, nowhere. On the opposite side of where the Englishman was standing was seats usually filled with an audience. Rather, the rows of seats were empty, yet the cheering and laughter of hundreds echoed throughout the stadium.

England then regarded his outfit. In place of his woolly trenchcoat and grey trousers was a full, dark-green suit. The Brit stared at it ridiculously, unable to remember when he had ever owned such an outfit. He was still in a state of astonishment, barely able to sense a person standing by him.

"Hellooo," the person called, in a sing-song tone, "anyone in there?" He clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers in the Englishman's face.

The personification blinked, once again being pulled from his thoughts. "Wh-What?"

"Oh dear," the person sighed, tapping his chin. "Still in denial, I see." He grinned, swinging his head back to the rows of empty seats. In response, the 'seats' burst into laughter, applauding once again.

England's face reddened, embarrassed at being laughed at. He poured all his remaining strength into replying. "Stop it! Wh-Where the hell am I? I don't recall coming here! And who the hell are you?!"

The unnamed person raised an eyebrow. "Funny, you'd think you would know, especially when you spent the last few hours looking for this place."

The British country narrowed his eyes. "The last place I was is at the London Eye."

The person smirked and tilted his head. "I suppose I should introduce myself then. I am Metus, the host of this game show." He pointed at England's podium. "The one you're about to play!"

England's eyes widened. "M-Metus?"

Metus did a mock-bow, his smirk growing wider. "The one and only!" The game show host was a middle-aged man, dressed in a plain, black suit with a matching top hat that covered his eyes. His black, slicked-back hair hid in his hat. Various ends of it stuck out from the cracks of his top hat, giving him a rugged look. His outfit was topped off with simple dress shoes with neatly-tied shoelaces and a polished front that could blind a person. When he smiled, his lightly-tanned skin stretched across his dangerously sharp cheekbones. Complete with a gangly figure and an energetic personality, Metus could have represented the face of game show hosts.

"Now wait just a minute," England muttered, rubbing his forehead. "I was looking for you. No, wait, America and I were looking for this show. But-But we couldn't find it."

"And yet, here you are!" Metus clapped his hands, practically bouncing with energy. "Well then, introductions were fun, but now it's time for some-"

"Where's America?"

The host's smile faltered. "All in good time, my dear country. But first, we're going to have a little quiz."

The personification stumbled away from the podium, almost tripping over himself. How'd Metus know he was a country's personification? "What did you say? I-I'm not-"

"You're the personification of Great Britain, if I'm not mistaken." Metus flashed a grin, showing his perfectly-white teeth. "Human name: Arthur Kirkland. Human age: 23. Actual age...hard to say. I'm not the brightest when it comes to history."

The color drained from England's face. He swallowed nervously, saying nothing.

"Yes," the game show host continued, murmuring, "I know all about you. And I know that you have plenty of history." Metus gazed upon the country, giving the Brit shivers. The host stared at England like he was the main course for his dinner.

After a while longer, Metus snapped his head up, looking right into the Englishman's eyes. "I absolutely adore your suit," he commented, "it compliments your eyes!" The host then clapped his hands twice, and the lights turned off, receiving a collective gasp from the invisible audience. A spotlight turned on, and shone directly at England, causing him to squint.

The Brit put his hands up to his eyes, shielding himself from the blinding light. As his eyes adjusted, he gripped the edge of the podium, trying to stop his trembling legs. He kept his emotions in check, but in truth, the country was scared out of his mind. How did Metus know he was actually a personification? How'd he know his human identity? And why was he the one playing the bloody game?

"Let's start the first round! Now, these are simple questions that will let us know more about you," the game show host assured. "Just answer them truthfully, and we'll be able to continue, okay?"

"I- fine." England set his jaw.

A steady drum roll played, while a dramatic tune played in the background. "First question: What do you fear?"

The Englishman seemed taken aback by the question. "Wh-What do I fear? Well...I fear for the wellbeing of my country, my queen. I'm always at constant alert." England glanced at Metus, hoping he had answered the question correctly. Right then, a concerted Boooo! resounded throughout the empty seats.

Metus tisked, shaking his head. "I'm afraid that's not what we're looking for. What do you really fear for? Personally- professional worries thrown away?"

The Brit swallowed. "I don't-"

"Here, let me give you some help," the host interrupted. He snapped his fingers, and the stadium dissolved, along with the empty audience, Metus, and England's podium.

The personification froze, stunned. He looked at his hands to make sure they were still there. The Englishman scanned his surroundings apprehensively. England recognized the place. He was in the conference room, where the world-meeting would usually take place. The British country paced around the room. He couldn't find Metus anywhere, or any signs that the game show had even existed.

All of a sudden, the door to the conference room opened. England held his hands out in a defensive position, backing away from the door. "Who's there?" he demanded uneasily.

The door was swung open, and people came bustling in. No, not just any people, nations. The country relaxed, pleased to see familiar faces. The first personification to take his seat was none other than Germany. England sighed in relief. The German was always logical and right-minded. Perhaps he could figure out what's going on by asking Germany.

The Brit strode over to the German. "Germany, I need to ask-"

Suddenly, Germany stood up from his seat and walked through England. The English personification was still in shock. Could Germany not see him? Was he invisible?

Feeling edgy, England stumbled through the room, finally reaching the seat where America would usually sit at. He was hoping that his former colony would show up, so he could punch him in the face and go home. After all, it was America's fault that he got dragged into this. Plopping in the American's chair, the Englishman put his head down on the table. What a long day it had been.

"Hey, England," The Englishman perked up, undeniably overjoyed to hear the teenager's voice. He turned to find the American country glaring daggers at him.

"America! Great, you're here! Now we c-"

"Yeah, yeah, later." America snapped impatiently. "Could you get out of my seat? Jeez, don't be so annoying."

England frowned. "Oi, if anyone, you're the one who's annoying."

But, the American already had his head turned, ignoring the Brit. The Englishman knit his brows, confused. He tried pulling at America's shoulder, but he couldn't. His hand passed right through the teenager's body. England gaped, examining his hand. He tried getting America's attention again, but no such luck. The American paid him no attention, as if the Brit hadn't existed.

"No," England breathed, "what's happening?" The British nation tried the next seat from America, which sat France. England leaned over the Frenchman's seat, waving his hand in his face. France only sighed, twirling his blond locks.

"Hey, Frenchie," England barked, hopelessly trying to shake the French country. "Look at me!" France didn't give the Englishman so much as a blink.

England backed away, staring into his hands. Except that his hands weren't there anymore. The Brit could feel his hands, yet they looked transparent. In a panic, England raced around the table, aimlessly trying to make the other nations notice him. No one gave him a reaction-China, Russia, Italy, Canada, Japan-none of them.

The English nation finally gave up, collapsing into an empty chair, exhausted. "It's just Metus messing with my head," he mumbled, reassuring himself, "nothing more."

Right on time, Metus visualized in the chair next to him, fiddling with the buttons on his suit. "Do you have your answer yet?" The host questioned casually, looking at the tips of his fingernails.

England almost fell out of his chair. "Hey, don't do that!" he snapped weakly. "And where am I? Why can't America and the others see me?"

Metus smiled widely. "Don't you worry, you're still right where you woke up. As for this-" he gestured to the air around him, "this is us inside your head. You've taken us to the situation which you most fear."

"That's not true," England rebutted stupidly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The game show host raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then let me point it out to you very, very clearly. The great British nation is afraid of losing. He's afraid of being forgotten." Metus stood up from his chair, swiveling the seat to face England. "Look: India, Malaysia, Australia, Canada, Egypt, Seychelles, America." Every time Metus spoke a former colony's name, they appeared in the chair, their persona reflecting their past, the time period of British colonies, and then their present. "Look at how happy they are before you came. Especially after they declared independence from you."

The English nation stared blankly at the changing faces, flashing from sad to happy. "You're lying," he managed, his voice barely audible.

Metus scoffed. "Don't be an idiot. Some countries even celebrate their day of independence from you. When do you ever get a clue? No one needed you. Not now, not then, not ever."

The former colonies disappeared, leaving England with an empty chair. The personification blinked, and looked up at the host's grim face. The Brit opened his mouth to say something, but faltered. The country hated to admit it, but it wasn't all lies. The thought had crossed his mind once or twice. Oh, but how it tortured him. The dread, the guilt. England couldn't deny it. He always wondered what his colonies would be without him. He'd always try to put in their best interests. He worked hard to keep them close. But, alas, they broke apart from him, one by one. It left a gaping hole in his heart. They were his family; they fulfilled his fantasy of having people who loved him, who were there for him. England wanted to be more than just the 'black sheep of Europe'.

"Where's America?" The Englishman asked again, pushing the nightmarish thoughts out of his head. England glared at Metus defiantly.

"You'll see him soon enough," the host answered, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit. The Brit was never good at reading expressions, therefore he thought it was strange that he could point out Metus' expression. Although the host kept a straight face, it looked disgustingly triumphant. He waved his hand in a circular motion, and England's world dissolved around him. The personification found himself back standing behind the steely podium. He looked at the top of it, and a wave of fear rippled through him. The podium's top had the word _veni_ marked on it, looking like it was burned with a steel prod, still smoking from the burn. The word didn't fit on the whole table, for there was more room for more marks towards the right of the table.

"Fun, fun, fun stuff!" The Brit glanced up, finding the restless host clapping his hands. England stifled a gasp. Metus was smoking, like the burnt _veni_. Fumes of black smoke curled up from every area of his body. But when England blinked, the smoke vanished. Metus was still grinning from ear to ear. "We should play another game! Right, guys?" The host turned around, spreading his arms wide, smiling brightly at the empty seats. Although they didn't look occupied to the personification, they still applauded and cheered in response.

"The jury has spoken," Metus joked, turning to face England again. The Englishman gulped, turning a pale shade of white.

Before the British nation could protest, Metus snapped his fingers once more. England took a deep breath, closing his eyes, bracing himself for another transportation. After silently counting to five, the personification opened his eyes. To his surprise, he was still standing in the gamestage.

However, Metus was nowhere to be seen. "Metus?" England called, warily, "What are you-"

Suddenly, the country was hit with blinding pain. Someone had stabbed him.

...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So, this will be the last installment! Lots of thanks to those who stuck with this to the end. :)

...

Someone had stabbed him. Or, at least that's what it felt like. It was as if someone had stuck a rusty blade in his back over and over again. He cried out in startlement, collapsing on the ground. England laid in a feeble position, curled up into a ball, moaning in pain. Despite all the pain the Brit was in, he could not feel any blood pooling out. England coughed violently and shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. The pain was so great that it was numbing all his senses. His vision blurred, yet something didn't allow him to black out. His breathing grew raspy.

"Does it hurt?" The Englishman had no strength to locate the source of the voice, and he had no strength to utter a single word. However, the voice spoke not in the area around him, but in his head. _Metus,_ he thought, _Stop this. Please, it hurts._

"Didn't you learn your manners, dear country?" Metus hissed inside his head. "The Golden Rule: treat others the way you want to be treated."

England couldn't even think straight. His mind was shot with unbearable agony. The nation managed to get on his knees, but a second after, doubled over with pain. He blinked tears out of his eyes. Suddenly, images that weren't his own flooded his mind. Over and over, it was one man, standing over broken nations with a triumphant look in his face. He was well-clothed and trim, seemingly spoiled rich more than others. He had a calculating, cold look in his eyes, as if to say,_ what can benefit me the most?_ A pompous sneer was plastered to his face, as if he were greater than anyone on Earth.

It was England. But, yet, it wasn't.

"You had it all," Metus claimed, "but only due to the suffering of several others."

Like an exploding bomb, cries and moans erupted into the Englishman's ears. With a yelp, England covered his ears, trying to block out the noise, but it droned on and on, with no signs of stopping. _Stop it…_ England groaned internally. _That isn't me_.

"All of the terrible noises you're hearing now?" the host inquired. "That's from all the pain you caused. Can you hear them, England? Do you hear their cries of help? Yet, did you stop pillaging, colonizing, _stealing?_"

The Brit didn't respond. He remained still as stone, misery etched into his face.

"Admit it," Metus chuckled darkly, "you're a monster. You'll always be one."

_I… know…_ The nation admitted, struggling for his words. _You don't have to remind me._

Finally, the pain subsided, leaving a tear-cracked, tormented nation huddled on the floor. Taking an enormous amount of strength, the Brit heaved himself from the stage floor, using support from his podium. He breathed heavily, still wincing as he imagined the pain attack him again.

As England's vision cleared, he still couldn't find the game show host anywhere. The spotlight was still on him, yet there was no audience. The area was silent, giving off an eerie tone to England's surroundings. Unintentionally, his legs started shaking, in fear of what attack would come next.

This was crazy. He had to get out. He was starting to think that he could actually die here. He had to find America and- wait, what was that smell?

England looked down to find his hands smoking on the podium. Crying out in shock, he lifted his hands to find the words, _vidi_, marked next to the first word, _veni_. He leaned closer to the smoking words, examining it. What did it mean?

"Round three!" Metus appeared, right in front of England's podium. He too was smoking like the words. The Englishman flinched visibly, making Metus smirk.

"When can I go home?" England asked quietly, his energy drained.

"When we're done! Don't you want to see if you won or lost?" The host circled the Brit, looking at him as if it was prey. "You've lost so many battles over your colonies, and it seems that losing America was the final blow."

England struggled to meet Metus' eyes. "Not true," he claimed, unconvinced himself, "I still had Canada, India and parts of Africa."

"But they _saw_ how the British Empire could be defeated. Thus, giving them a spark of hope. I mean, look at Ireland! He was inspired by America's actions, and tried to gain independence from you."

Metus snapped his hands, and America appeared in front of England, wearing his old, blue Revolutionary War uniform. England's old musket appeared in his hands, but he was too dazed and confused to notice.

"England," the host spoke quietly, his eyes flitting from the American to the Brit. "Aren't you going to shoot him?"

The Englishman seemed to wake from his daze, yet a conflicted look lingered on his face. The nation looked at the musket resting in his grasp. "I…"

America looked terror-stricken. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. No sound came out. He struggled to move, yet he remained still as stone.

England's face hardened. His eyes flashed murderously, and he positioned his gun to face the American. He stood in an offensive stance, ready to shoot.

"You stupid, misbehaved, pathetic excuse for a colony," the English nation snarled, his index finger touching the trigger. "How_ dare_ you defy me?"

Although neither of the countries noticed it, a third and final word appeared on the podium, smoking black._ Defici_. There were now three words laying across the podium._ Veni, Vidi, Defici_. The words then translated itself into English, from Latin. It read: _I came, I saw, I was defeated_. Metus simpered, delight written across his face. "Finish it! Win one last battle, England."

America stared pleadingly at the Brit, unable to do anything. It only seemed to anger England more. He scowled deeply, promising himself to never back off again. No one would ever use the mighty British nation again!

_BANG_. England's musket fired the shot, his weapon now smoking in his hands. He lowered it, his face grim. The smoke cleared, and the Brit could now confirm that his bullet ended right where he wanted it to.

**"NO!"** The game show host cried out, aghast. "**You can't-!**"

England kept his scowl, glaring at Metus. "You're a big arse and this is a really stupid game."

**"I defeated you." **He curled his fists, forcing more black smoke to emanate from his body. **"You're mine. You admitted to your own fears, to your pathetic state you live in."**

"You forget; I'm a nation, but I'm not the only one. I have what I need and that's all I want."

Metus stared at the big hole in his chest. Black blood poured out from the wound. His body started blurring, slowly fading away. The ghostly audience howled in disappointment. His smirk turned into an irritated sneer.** "Congratulations, Arthur Kirkland. You have won. But there will always be a next time."** With that, the host disappeared fully, leaving England and his former colony alone in an empty stadium and a single, metallic podium.

The Englishman glanced at his podium, finding the words,_ Veni, Vidi, Vici_. Recognizing the familiar phrase, he translated it into English: I came, I saw, I conquered. It was reassuring to hear that, but it still gave him the chills. His stomach hurt, and he desperately wanted to flee back into the comfort of his home.

"Ugh," England turned to find America unfrozen, magically back into his own clothes. The American stretched, rubbing his head. "God, I have the worst headache ever."

The Brit surged forward, wanting to throw his arms around his taller companion. Then, he hesitated, thinking better of it. He patted America's back awkwardly, pushing him forward.

America gave the Englishman a strange look. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," he replied stiffly, "and you're a great, bloody idiot for dragging me all the way out here. There's nothing here, just like I told you."

The American groaned. "What a scam! I can't believe this! I wasted all this time-"

"And mine too, you arse!"

"-and now I have to fly all the way back." he continued, grumbling. "Hey, are you cold or something? You're shivering like crazy! Seriously, I'd lend you my coat, but you have such a big coat already."

England looked at himself, mildly surprised to find himself back into his familiar trenchcoat. Despite the warmth of it, his legs were shaking. He rubbed his arms, trying to stop the shivers. "I'm fine. We should go." The Brit looked around for an exit. He turned around, and saw a metal door that must've appeared as soon as Metus disintegrated.

As they turned to leave, America caught a glimpse of the words on the lone podium. He stopped, narrowing his eyes in curiosity. "Veni, Vidi, Vici…" the personification read out loud, making the Englishman wince. "What does that mean?"

"It's Latin. It translates to: I came, I saw, I conquered." England continued walking, not interested in staying in the abandoned area anymore. He pulled open the door, and it revealed the comforting view of the street. His BMW was right where he parked it.

"How do you know Latin?" America ran to catch up with the Englishman. They stepped out into the street, heading towards England's car.

"Don't you know? It's the popular saying from Julius Caesar." England stated. The two finally reached his car. The Brit opened the door to his car and got in the driver's seat. "It was his declaration from his campaign in Britain."

"Oh, yeah, I knew that." America sat opposite of England. He watched England start the car. Soon, they were driving off into the night. He glanced at the clock. "Wow, that took us an hour! That sucks."

The English nation drew in a deep breath. It seemed so much longer than that. "So, you don't...you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"We- never mind. Next time you visit, _I'm_ picking the tourist spots."

"Whatever you say. It's too bad; I could've been on camera." America relaxed back into his seat, looking out the window. He fiddled with the radio, changing the station every few seconds, much to England's annoyment.

"Pick a station and leave it at that!" He slapped America's hand away.

_ Red, and yellow, and pink and green. Orange, and purple and blue! Can you see the raaaaaainbow? _

"You made it land on a kid's station!" Fed up, America turned off the radio, making the two countries sit in silence. "Besides, that's not even a real rainbow. Remember, when you always told me that blue and green go together, like our eyes."

"You still remember that?" England asked, astonished. "Yeah, and you'd say-"

"We would always be by each other!" America finished, smiling. He elbowed England playfully. "We still are, after all these years, eh? Hah, it makes me feel like an old man!"

England returned his smile. "I guess we are."

At last, his BMW reached his house. He pulled into his driveway, turning off the engine, and climbed out, followed by America. They walked to England's doorstep. England tripped over his feet, feeling suddenly nauseous. He held his head, blinking several times. However, the other nation didn't notice. At the foot of the door, the two personifications turned to face each other. America took a hand out of the pockets of his jeans, holding it out to England. "I'll see you later, then! This was fun, huh? We should do this again!"

The Englishman took his hand, shaking it. "Yeah, of course. Just give me a call before you come."

America grinned in reply. He jogged down the Brit's stairs, waving goodbye. England frowned. "W-Wait, do you have a ride?"

"I got a rental car," the American called back.

"Are you sure you want to go to the airport at this time? Maybe you should stay the night-"

"Don't worry; I'll be okay. I have stuff to do next morning anyways. Jeez, I don't need you to be my Mom, England." With that, America got into his rental car. With one last wave goodbye, he drove off, disappearing down the street.

England watched America vanished into the night. He yawned, turning back to his front door. Unlocking it, he lumbered into his home, tired out. Closing the door with his back, he slid to the floor. England put his head on his knees, covering his head with his hands. Metus' cackles echoed in his head, shaking his sanity. He didn't want to admit it, but Metus was in control of him for awhile. The Brit actually felt compelled to shoot America. He wondered what would happen if he did. Would he still have won the game? Would it make him happier? Would-

All of a sudden, his home phone rang. It rang throughout the lonely house. England was too exhausted to pick up. It was barely daylight, for God's sake. He kept in his shelled-up position, letting the call go to voicemail.

_Hey, it's me! What's up? Anyway, I just had a totally awesome idea. I'm at the airport, in case you were still worrying your butt off. But yeah, the idea! Next time you visit, we could go downtown NYC and, I dunno, go eat and see the sights? It's on me. Hope there's no hard feelings. Okay, see you! _

England looked up. He couldn't help but crack a smile. What a bloody idiot America was. Although, he might just accept that offer. Slowly, he got up. Heading to his home phone, he checked if there were any other messages he had.

_Hello, England! This is India, letting you know that I think our last Indo-UK Science and Innovation council went well! ..Even though, we didn't really...innovate things. But that's okay! I think we should meet to discuss future plans on our next council? Call me when you receive this message, thank you._

_Bonjour, dear Angleterre! Tell me, have you heard of this new thing called 'Snapchat'? You have to download this app at once! Wait 'till I show you all these hilarious pictures I took of the others! Make sure you read the captions I put, haha!_

_Oi, you! This is Scotland. I'm just calling you to tell you that my box broke down, so don't come to my house to watch Doctor Who. Instead, I'll be coming over next Saturday. Make sure you get those fancy biscuits I like! _

England's smile grew wider. He felt more comfortable now. Yeah, this was all the British nation needed. He didn't need to accept the past, but just accept the way things are now. He could deal with this life. After all, he wasn't the only personification around.

...

**A/N:** Yeah, and then that's it. How was it? I hope it wasn't too shabby for my first fanfic. I hope to write longer things than this. I can't believe I only wrote 4 chapters. It seemed so much longer in Google Docs. -u-" Thanks for sticking through the whole thing!

Reviews, reviews! I'd really like more- maybe on how to improve, what you liked and what you wanted to be added/changed? Lay it on me!


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